Argosy, Volume XXIII — Index Page, 1897 — page 173: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HOODOO SAM. 743 The fight between snake and man had not lasted two minutes ; Brock had time only to scramble to his feet, catch up little Rob, and retreat to a safe corner. Now, with the child clinging convulsively to his neck, he approached Hoodoo Sam. He knew the negro’s time was short. One bite of such a rattlesnake would be fatal, and Sam had received half a dozen. . ‘“Sam’s dead man,’’ panted the African, turning his bloodshot eyes upon his late assailant. ‘‘ Debil git Sam. Been mighty bad. Kill Injun Wakola; scare baby Jimmy to det wit Boogger ’cause he make noise. Now Boog- ger bite Sam ; he die fer sure.’’ A spasm of pain cut short hisspeech. ‘The poison in his heated blood had coursed quickly through his frame. Brock took a flask of whisky from his pocket and gave it to him; he clutched the flask eagerly and drank half of it at a draft. The strong liquor revived him for a little. ‘‘Thankee ; whisky good,’’ he said. ‘‘Sam sorry he cut wid knife. Not bad cut; git well soon. Sorry took lil’ Rob. No aim ter hurt um. Want git money ter go way off on boat, so Injun can’t find; Injun kill Sam. Oh, Lor’! hav’ mussey ! have mussey !’’ he broke off as a convulsion seized him, and caused him to writhe in agony. When it passed, the poor wretch lay exhausted and gasping. Brock gave him the remainder of the whisky,.but he had hardly swallowed it when another spasm of pain contorted his features, and he rolled over the floor, tearing his clothes from his body. Thereafter the paroxysms came on with increasing violence and at shorter intervals, until the strong, savage life was extinguished. Gathering all his vital forces for a final struggle, the negro sprang to his feet, threw out his knotted arms and clenched hands, then moaning out the prayer ‘‘ Lor hav’ mussey !’’ fell to the floor, dead. Brock turned him on his back and put a roll of moss under his head. ‘Then, with Rob in his arms, he ran out of the hut, feeling as though he had just escaped from the infernal regions. The rain was over; the cool salt air refreshed him and revived the half fainting child. He burst out crying and sobbing on his preserver’s neck. Brock soothed him with assurances that it was all over, telling him he was safe and sound. : ‘“Take me home, Hardy ; take me to Hetty,’’ he pleaded. . “We are going home now as fast as I can walk. Don’t you see the light? Hetty is up waiting to give you supper. Cheer up.’’ The Darkes had returned from their fruitless expedition. They were drying themselves by the fire, and drinking the hot coffee brought to them by Hetty, whose white face and swollen eyes told that she had given up all hope. Suddenly the door was thrown open ; an amazing apparition stood before them—Brock, pale, bare headed, and blood stained, with Rob—living Rob, in his arms. . The young man was well nigh exhausted, but he told his story. He did not speak of his wound ; it was Hetty’s eyes that saw the blood on his shirt. She transferred Rob to his father, while she bound up the ugly cut, her brothers assisting her. The two big fellows seemed to think they could not do or say enough to show their gratitude to Brock and their admiration of his pluck and discernment. Ecomicbooks. co